Tracie Peterson (25 page)

Melody finished with the last ornament and turned to see Ginny wipe away a tear. Today was the anniversary of Harold’s death. Two years had passed, and yet Ginny had told her it seemed like yesterday.

“
I can’t count the number of times I’ll glance at the clock and think, ‘Two more hours until Harold is home.’ ‘Wonder what Harold would like for supper?’ ‘Wonder how Harold’s day went
,’” Ginny had told her that morning. Melody could only pray she’d not find herself up against the same painful experience. She dreaded any sight of the local telegraph deliveryman.

“There!” Ginny declared and got up with the string of red berries. “I’m glad to have that finished.” She went to the tree and adjusted the cranberries along the branches.

“What do you think?” Melody questioned, turning from the tree with a hand to her back.

She moved a couple of ornaments around to balance out the top, then stood back. “It looks just lovely, Melody,” Ginny remarked. “I’m so glad you’re here to help with it.”

“I don’t think I’m that much help,” she said with a frown. “I can hardly reach the tree because of the baby.”

Ginny laughed. “Well, it won’t be long now. Doc Ketterman says it could be any day.”

Melody’s frown deepened and she turned away to prevent Ginny from seeing her discomfort. Having this baby terrified her. With Collin so far away and her own parents refusing to have anything to do with her, Melody felt very much alone. What if something went wrong?

Ginny walked to where Melody stood and put her hands on the young girl’s shoulders. “It will be all right. You’ll see. Remember, I used to be a nurse. Plus, I’ve had two babies.”

“Yes, but you lost one,” Melody said, turning to meet Ginny’s gaze. “What if my baby dies?”

Ginny nodded. “Things do happen. My little girl had the umbilical cord wrapped around her neck. Nobody could have known that. We have no guarantees that life will be easy, Melody, but God is good.”

The girl shook her head. “I don’t know if I can see Him that way anymore. Look at how my folks have acted. I know I did wrong, but I asked them to forgive me. I asked God, too, but they told me He couldn’t forgive what I did.”

“Melody, I’d be the last one to tell you not to listen to your folks, but in this case, I know they’re wrong. If a person repents and seeks
God’s forgiveness, it will be given. You did make a mistake. You gave in when you should have remained pure. But it happens. More often than you’d know. Still, there are consequences for your actions and you’re enduring those even now. It doesn’t mean God can’t forgive you and it doesn’t mean this baby is a punishment. You married your baby’s father and now you have your whole life ahead of you.”

“But what if something happens?” Melody questioned.

Melody was surprised that she’d found the courage to ask that question. She had positively refused to speak aloud anything negative since first coming to live with Ginny the previous June. Even when Ginny had made comments about worrying over John and Collin, Melody refused to admit her own concerns. It was almost as if she worried that should she voice her fears, it might well give fuel to bring them about.

Ginny opened her arms to embrace Melody, and she eagerly stepped into Ginny’s embrace.

“Melody, no matter what happens, you must remember that God loves you, and I love you too. I always wanted a daughter, and when mine died I felt so grieved and saddened by the loss. My daughter would have been just two years older than you, and I like to think she would have been pretty and sweet like you.”

Melody hugged Ginny tight. “She would have been smarter than me. Oh, Ginny, I don’t know why I did what I did. I just felt so happy to be with Collin. He was so sweet and compassionate. He made me feel happy and loved, and when he kissed me I knew I wanted to spend the rest of my life with him.” A sob broke her voice. “But now he’s fighting in the war and he may not come back. I can’t bear it. I just can’t bear it.”

Her shoulders quivered as she cried against Ginny’s neck. “I’m so scared, Ginny.”

“I know, sweetheart. But you don’t have to be.”

Melody shook her head and pulled away. The tears streamed down her face. “I just don’t see God as loving me anymore. And even if He did, if He’s what my folks think He is, I’m not sure I want to love Him.”

Ginny nodded. “Listen to me, Melody. God is everything good and perfect and true. The Bible tells us that He is love. The Bible also says that we have but to come to Him and confess our sins and He
will be faithful to forgive them. Your folks are good people, with good intentions. They feel so strongly about this because they love you.” Melody started to turn away, but Ginny put out her hand and stopped her. “Child, just because you and your folks have had this disagreement, don’t stop loving them and caring about them. I can guarantee you, as a mother, I never stopped caring about and loving John, even when he was being a bit of a pistol. He’s my child, just as this baby you’re carrying will be your child . . . just as we are God’s children. Mistakes and misunderstandings do not take that love away.”

“My folks are different. You don’t know them,” Melody said, wiping at her tears. “They chose the church over me. They told me I was a sinner.”

Ginny nodded. “We all are.”

“They told me I was lost and going to hell.”

“Without Jesus to save us, we’d all be headed there.”

“They told me God couldn’t forgive me.”

“Well, my Bible says that He can,” Ginny smiled. “I think they’re just speaking out of their pain.”

“Their pain?” Melody questioned. “What do they know of pain?”

“I’m sure that given everything that’s happened, they know plenty about it. Give them time, Melody. Have you ever written to let them know where you are?”

She shook her head. “No. They don’t deserve to know. They told me if I ever came home they’d see me driven out of town. You know that—I told you how hateful they were.”

“I know what you’ve told me, but I would think now that so much time has passed, they are probably wishing things had not gone that way. They probably regret their choices and decisions.”

Melody looked down at her rounded belly and gave it a gentle rub. “I’d like to think that what you say is true. We were always so close. I have three little sisters and I have no idea how they are or what they are doing.”

“You could always write them a letter if you’re afraid of talking to them face-to-face.”

“I doubt they’d read it,” Melody replied.

“Well, you’ll never know unless you try it.”

The girl nodded. “I think I’m going to go lie down. I’m feeling pretty tired.”

“That sounds like a good idea,” Ginny said. “Maybe things won’t seem so bad after you get a little rest.”

Days later, Ginny felt confident that Melody was considering her idea of writing home. She’d found several wadded-up pieces of writing paper in Melody’s wastebasket, and while she didn’t intrude to see if they were letters started to her folks, Ginny figured they probably were.

Another thing Ginny was confident about was that Melody was going to deliver any day now. The baby had dropped, a sure sign that he or she was getting into position for the birthing process. Then, too, there was the little cleaning frenzy that Melody had launched into the day before. Ginny remembered her own pregnancies and how important it had seemed during those last few days to get everything in order. Why, she had been cleaning the nursery for John’s arrival the very second her water broke.

It had already been agreed upon that Melody would deliver the baby at home. Ginny had helped with hundreds of births, and Melody was so leery of strangers that it just made sense. Doc Ketterman would come and do the actual delivery, but Ginny would be there for assisting and helping afterward.

Ginny liked the idea of having a new life come into her home. She had been secretly glad when John had presented the idea of taking on Melody and helping her in her situation. Ginny would never have admitted her loneliness to John, especially with him heading off to war. The thought of spending all her time alone in the family house had nearly driven her to sell it off and move back east to live with her sister. Melody had given her a reason to stay.

Now with the war reports being so grim and worrisome, Ginny was especially glad that the two women had each other to lean on for comfort and encouragement. She knew things would be difficult for her son. As the pilot of a B-17 bomber, he had told his mother what would be expected of him. Ginny had appreciated his honesty, but at the same time she almost wished she didn’t know what his job was. She had no way of knowing when he was sitting safely in England or
when he was risking his life over occupied portions of Europe. It could often be maddening and yet at the same time Ginny knew there was nothing positive to be gained by worrying.

“
Worry just kills hope
,” her Harold used to say. “
And hope is all we have when things seem darkest
.”

Ginny smiled and looked out the kitchen window to the backyard, where Harold’s shed stood. She could almost see him there chopping wood just outside the door. He would look up and wave and sometimes he would make a motion like he was drinking a cup of coffee. Ginny knew that was his way of asking her to put on a pot so that he could come inside and warm up.

An icy rain had been falling since before dawn, but Ginny could still make out the woodpile beyond the frosted window. Harold had always seen to it that there was plenty of wood for the fireplace; now Ginny relied on the Bennett family for help in that area. Marion Bennett and his war-wounded son-in-law, David, would come down and see to her needs every couple of weeks. All of her church family had been good about helping her out. She would have expected no less, however. That was what family was for. If Marion had died instead of Harold, Ginny knew her husband would have been the first to sign up for offering help to the Bennett family. That was the way they did business in this small town.

Glancing at the clock, Ginny saw that it was nearly time to start breakfast. Soon Melody would be waking up and they would face Christmas Eve together. The vision of Harold faded, but the warmth of his memory burrowed deep into Ginny’s heart. It still hurt so much to be without him.

“I miss him, Lord,” she whispered, bowing her head. “I know you have a perfect plan. But I miss my Harold.”

“Ginny!”

Melody’s terrified scream pierced the otherwise silent morning. Forgetting her prayer, Ginny felt her heart race as she hurried to John’s old bedroom. Standing in a puddle of water, doubled over from the pain of her labor, Melody could barely choke out her words.

“It’s the baby!”

Somewhere over the Pas de Calais, France, December 24, 1943

“So, Deac, this is a milk run, eh?” Collin “Digger” Thompson yelled over the commotion of the moment.

John Williams looked at his co-pilot only briefly and fought against the heavy vibration of the B-17’s yoke. The aircraft lurched as a flak burst detonated nearby. The formation of B-17s sliced through the skies at an altitude of twenty thousand feet as they traveled en masse to return home to their base in England.

Coming back from their no-ball mission near the Pas de Calais in France, the B-17 crew members were feeling less than festive on this Christmas Eve. The enthusiasm they’d had earlier in the morning for the “milk run” had faded in light of the heavy flak they were now facing. This was supposed to be nothing more than a simple bombing raid. A routine trip that would tack one more mission to their needed twenty-five missions before they could go home.

Digger tried not to think about home as he concentrated on helping to keep the plane in formation. The plane,
Circuit Rider
, was a very capable B-17F and their home away from home. Nicknamed as most planes were,
Circuit Rider
had been christened with the nose art of a horseback-riding preacher, Bible in one hand, six-shooter in the other, and the reins in his teeth. Added to this, the saddlebags were stuffed with bombs. Bombs to teach Hitler a lesson. Bombs to put an end to the war.

And just as the plane had been nicknamed, so too had most every crew member. John was “Deacon”—so called because of his love of the Scriptures and his faithful attendance to church whenever he was able to go to services. The men had first called him Deacon as a sort of teasing insult. Digger himself had started it. He’d tried over and over to get John to lighten up and have some fun. But as time went on and the crew grew more familiar with one another, John became
a symbolic anchor for them all. Deacon was the one who could pray and get results. Deacon knew just the right words to say when the worst things happened. The name suited the man, just as
Circuit Rider
suited the plane. Digger had to smile. If John had had his way, they probably would have dropped Bibles instead of bombs.